


Somebody like you

by FantasistFuturist



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes (Downey films), Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Feels, Sad John, no one dies it was just sherlocks fake death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-04
Updated: 2013-07-03
Packaged: 2017-12-17 15:16:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/868991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FantasistFuturist/pseuds/FantasistFuturist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i> Yesterday is taking my tomorrows. My empty heart can 't take no more. It's hard to live without no one to follow. How can I live without somebody like you? Please tell me. </i>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>John tries to move on with his life after Sherlock's death, but it's not the same without his detective.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Somebody like you

Their eyes met one last time. He wanted Watson to be the last person to see, because even he was unsure if he was going to make it back from this one. Sherlock Holmes got to see those stormy blue eyes once again; those stern eyes that gave him concerned looks when he’d get back from a boxing match a bit too drunk. Those patient eyes that rolled whenever he’d go days or weeks without a case and he’d play the violin at three in the morning. But now they were confused, they didn’t know what was going on. In return the good doctor got to see Holmes’ chocolate brown orbs, and Sherlock only hoped that Watson could read all the things they expressed in those few seconds. 

Such as the gratitude he had for the doctor, remembering all the times he had saved his life, risked his life for him. Of course Holmes was the one that persuaded Watson to accompany him on all the cases, but never once did he ask the other man to protect him, yet he did every time. And as Mary had once told him, “He’d say it was worth the wounds.” There was also a sweet sadness to his brown eyes, knowing that he would possibly never see him again, unspoken words that said, “It is my turn to save you now.” _Goodbye Watson._

His leg pushed against the chair, and in the blink of an eye he was over the edge, Moriarty with him. At that moment Watson closes his eyes, trying to process those few seconds, trying to memorize, engrave Sherlock’s last look in his mind. Finally he opened his eyes, his legs moving towards the wall at their own will. All he could see were the roaring waters below him, the seething foam that faded into the darkness of the night. He stared out into the darkness for a few minutes, or maybe it was hours, he wasn’t sure. Time was not something he was worried about. He could have stayed days there, his forehead pressed against the wall, knees aching from the concrete but they pulled him away. No tears were shed, none, everything just felt empty. Everyone who surrounded him seemed to be in slow motion, their voices nothing but an echo. 

The days passed by agonizingly slow, his mind still not wrapping itself around that the great Sherlock Holmes, the world’s only consulting detective was no more. It was Sherlock’s funeral, but it was only a service, they hadn’t found the bodies. He wished they had, at least Holmes’, he wanted closure that he hadn’t suffered. But his imagination was cruel, scenarios of his friend falling onto the sharp rocks, his body mangled, bloody, and disfigured beyond repair constantly played in his mind. 

Mary and Mrs. Hudson were the only ones who could get him to talk after Simza left. Mrs. Hudson would go on and on about Holmes’ horrible habits, complaining about all the animals he’d bring in, and all the noise he make at the early hours of the morning, nevertheless a sad smile never left her face. All Watson would do was chuckle quietly, eyes focused on all the scattered papers on Sherlock’s desk. 

It had been nearly two weeks after Holmes’ death and Watson found himself writing their last adventure together _. A few words may suffice to tell the little that remains. Any attempt at finding the bodies was absolutely hopeless. And so there, deep down in that dreadful cauldron of seething foam and swirling water will for all time the most dangerous criminal and the foremost champion of the law of their generation. I shall ever regard him as the best and wisest man whom I have ever known._ It was then when Mary’s voice broke the silence of the room, informing him someone had delivered a parcel for him. Opening it, his eyes examine it until it finally clicked- Sherlock at Mycroft’s place messing with his older brother’s things. Maybe it didn’t mean anything, but he still had to find out.

**Author's Note:**

> The first few lines of the summary are song lyrics from Somebody like you by Pop Evil.


End file.
